


Personal Misconceptions

by Opalgirl



Category: Tortall - Pierce
Genre: Angst, Gen, Minor Character(s), One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-06
Updated: 2010-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalgirl/pseuds/Opalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<em>She should hate me</em>, thought Wyldon, as the door swung open and the intruder stepped inside. <em>By all rights, she should hate me. Half the city would agree with her if she did</em>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Misconceptions

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, Wyldon. This is set post-PoTS.

He could hear her breathing as she stood by the door, and sighed, rubbing his forehead. Vivenne had taken Margarry to Port Caynn to visit relatives and to attempt to bankrupt his treasury for Margarry's upcoming wedding. It had been all too convenient.

"Mindelan, go away," he said briskly, refusing to look at her. "Go find someone else, for Mithros' sake. I'm an old, married man. My daughters are your age. Surely Masbolle will… entertain you." He regretted that almost as soon as he said it and he finally turned from the window to look at her.

She hadn't flinched, but stood there, peering up at him through her long eyelashes. "It's not like that," she said quietly, arms folded across her chest. Wyldon swore, mentally. Hadn't he learned by now that the rumors about the woman were never true?

"Of course not," he said, reluctantly, rubbing one hand over his bald head.

"Sir?" she queried, her voice betraying nothing.

Wyldon sighed, impatiently, and shook his head. She would drive him mad. She was impossible to read, and he hated the idea of being thwarted by a woman as young as she. As he wondered what on earth to say to her - they both knew he was married and they both knew he was twice her age, old enough to be her father as well as they knew the previous evening had been folly - a cold, damp nose brushed his hand.

Startled, he looked down to see that ragtag dog of hers standing at his side, head tipped to one side, crooked tail wagging. "You brought the dog," he accused, kneeling to scratch the battered creature's lone ear.

The tiniest of smiles crossed her face. "I didn't. He followed me. Jump, come."

"He can stay, Mindelan," he said, reaching for a bottle of wine just as he remembered she disliked alcohol.

"And me?" she queried, her eyebrows raised in another question.

Wyldon exhaled slowly, exasperated. "Could I make you leave short of bodily dragging you from the room? I think not. Sit down, at least. I'll have something else sent up and maybe we can have a civilized conversation."

The young woman shrugged and moved away from the door with an easy grace, her body not ruined by a myriad of broken bones, cut tendons, and various other injuries. Yet. He remembered having such a conversation with her when she was a page and he training master; she was certainly not vain.

Scars on her hands drew his attention as she stood on the hearth, warming them in front of the fire. They were fine and thin and had healed well - and covered both hands. They weren't anything she would have received in combat. He blinked, and then remembered. "The griffin?" he wondered aloud, and she looked at him, her expression one of mild puzzlement.

"Pardon me, sir?"

He nearly ground his teeth - he _had_ to break her of calling him "sir". It just reminded him of exactly what he was doing - and sighed. "Your hands, Mindelan. You had care of a baby griffin as a squire, I recall."

"Yes, sir. They're his work." She studied the scars and shook her head, tucking her hands into her breeches pockets.

"Mindelan." He cupped his hand under her chin and looked at her. "You are technically no longer my subordinate. I don't command you any more than I do that horse of yours."

She smiled openly at this, and nodded. "Yes, sir."

He shook his head and released her chin. "Firstly, stop calling me 'sir'. That will be a start. And, secondly, sit down."

 


End file.
